


irredeemable evil

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 17:02:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11536557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: Jenny looks at him, then takes a sip from the mug, moving over slightly on the couch. There’s a spot for Rupert there if he decides he wants to take it, but she knows that he won’t. He needs a direct invitation, which makes her want to laugh; she’s the vampire, and yet Rupert’s the one with the best manners out of both of them.





	irredeemable evil

Jenny-the-vampire, no matter what the kids seem to think, wasn’t in any way bloodthirsty or vengeful; she was pragmatic and thoughtful and kept under the radar until it was time to come out again. She stayed indoors and bought pig’s blood from the butcher at night and waited and waited and waited until it was the perfect time to hurt Rupert. Jenny-the-vampire had a capacity for cold, calculating vengeance, and Jenny sometimes feels that angry hate burning in her. It’s terrifying.

She’s very, very quiet the first few days. Jenny-the-vampire had done a lot of talking, and it’s made Jenny hate the sound of her own voice. She remembers the silky cadence her voice had taken on as she’d cupped Rupert’s face in one hand, the way she’d mimicked her own breathy tones. How she’d kissed him, soft and insistent, and how he’d kissed her back unhesitatingly, his tears warm and wet against her cool skin.

_Jenny. My Jenny. Please never leave me again._

Willow comes into Rupert’s bedroom (Jenny’s staying at his place for now) on the second day. “I found your soul spell after you left,” she says quietly. “I—I know that my using it on you wasn’t exactly what you had in mind, but—Giles needs you. We all do.”

Jenny doesn’t say anything.

“I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you,” Willow continues, with gentle compassion in her eyes that no part of this new Jenny Calendar can possibly deserve, “but you should know that Giles is really happy that you’re okay.”

“I’m not,” says Jenny. Her voice is hoarse from disuse.

Willow sits down next to her. Jenny can smell her, and she smells like food, and that’s so profoundly frightening that she all but jumps out of the bed, flattening herself against the wall. “Get out,” she’s saying, barely conscious of Willow’s hurt, teary-eyed expression. “Get out, get _out, get out—”_

Willow presses her lips together and runs, but she can’t even make it halfway out the door before she starts crying. Jenny can hear her sobs and listens to them die away. Emotions are beyond her capacity at the moment; it seems to be all she can do not to eat people.

* * *

 

Rupert comes in on the fourth day. As soon as Jenny sees the love in his eyes, she looks down at the blanket.

“I’m just—going to sit in here,” he says, and she hears the rustle of him taking out a book. She can’t look at him. The last time she looked him in the eye was when Jenny-the-vampire asked him, sugar-sweet, how to awaken Acathla. She remembers the hollow, broken look in his eyes when he looked back at her, like all the happy parts of him had gone with her when Angelus turned her. Jenny-the-vampire had had no vested interest in whether or not the world was sucked into a hell dimension; she was really mostly just interested in torturing Rupert.

He starts reading, soft and reassuring, as though Jenny’s some kind of wild animal he’s trying to tame. Jenny hates it, and looks up to tell him so, and sees the bandage on his neck. Her throat tightens as she remembers the taste of his blood, not coppery like it had been when Jenny-the-human bit her lip, but sugar-sweet and rich with flavor. She doesn’t know how she’s supposed to live like this.

She doesn’t know if she wants to.

* * *

 

Her Uncle Enyos had always said that vampires were creatures of irredeemable evil, and that the soul was given as a punishment, not as a chance at redemption. Jenny’s starting to kind of get why Angel was so miserable all the time. It doesn’t feel like a second chance to be here, especially when there’s suddenly all this guilt and grief tied up in all of her memories of Rupert. She wishes he hadn’t loved her, because then it would have been so much simpler.

More horrible than any of this is the fact that he loved her so much. He kept on reaching up, touching Jenny-the-vampire’s face with shaking hands. She’d broken two of his fingers, and he’d still looked at her with that same love and sadness. Jenny-the-vampire had hated it. Jenny (whatever she is now) hates it too, but for a very different reason.

“Pig’s blood,” says Xander, and sits down on the edge of the bed. Jenny doesn’t take the mug, nor does she study Xander’s face. Impassively, she thinks about the fact that she could jump out of the bed and snap his neck like a twig. “Come on, Ms. C,” he says, quiet and placating. “You have to eat sometime. Giles is worried sick about you.”

Jenny doesn’t look at Xander. She’s never understood him. Xander had hated Angel, but now Xander seems to treat her like she’s been struck down with some kind of strange affliction instead of being the latest souled vampire. Angelus 2.0, only Angelus had had a longer reign of terror than Jenny-the-vampire both times around.

“Ms. Calendar,” Xander says. His voice breaks. “We can’t lose you again. I know Giles can’t handle that. He—all that’s keeping him going is the thought of you someday being okay again.”

Nothing really feels real to Jenny. The room is Technicolor bright, but Xander’s voice is dulled as though she’s turned the volume down on him. Her entire body feels heavy, and she doesn’t know if it’s the vampire thing or the probable-depression thing (though _depression_ seems too mild a term to describe the situation). She stares at the wall in front of her.

“You know, Angel already _did_ the brooding thing,” says Xander with a nervous laugh in his voice, “but he wasn’t exactly starving himself.”

Jenny rolls over onto her side, sliding down in the bed until she’s lying with her back to Xander, and closes her eyes. She’s been doing a lot of sleeping lately.

* * *

She wakes up with Rupert stroking her hair and singing softly to her like she’s some kind of small child. She keeps her eyes closed for longer than she should, because she’s half-convinced that it’s a dream anyway. But then Rupert says her name, barely a murmur, and Jenny jerks awake and away from him.

Rupert spills the mug of pig’s blood all over the mattress.

Jenny stares, breathing hard and shaking. She _won’t._ She won’t make herself into a monster and drink blood to survive. She’d rather die than live out this punishment for the failures of Jenny-the-human. The woman Rupert loved is dead, and the vampire who wanted him to suffer is trapped. Jenny doesn’t know where she is anymore, but she knows that she can’t live knowing that the vampire is there too.

“I should change the sheets,” says Rupert finally, his voice quiet and sad.

Jenny just looks at him.

“Right,” says Rupert. He hesitates, then, “Jenny—is there _anything_ I can do to help you?”

For a moment, Jenny’s almost afraid to say it. She forces it out. She’s nothing if not brave. “Kill me,” she says, meeting his eyes with nothing but firm sincerity.

The look on Rupert’s face is thousands of times worse than what she’d seen when Jenny-the-vampire had tortured him for fun. He stares at her like he can’t possibly believe what he’s just heard. “You know I can’t do that,” he says, his voice small and close to shattering. “Please—I just want you here with me.”

“Selfish of you,” says Jenny, and curls into the blood-soaked blankets.

Rupert pushes them off of her and reaches towards her, trying to pick her up and carry her downstairs. His shirt is stained with pig’s blood, and he smells like food, and Jenny is so, so hungry, to the point where she can feel the last threads of her control—her _humanity_ —slipping away from her. She imagines snapping and killing him, killing the rest of the Scoobies in a desire to sate this _thing_ living in her chest and forcing her to live with it. “I’d be dead,” she says. Her voice is small. “If you had  _staked_ me, I’d be dead, and—I wouldn’t have hurt you like I did.”

Rupert has a badly masked look of hope on his face. Jenny realizes that this is the most honest she’s been with him since she regained her soul. Maybe even before that. “It wasn’t _you,_ ” he says. “Jenny, please—”

“I won’t live like this,” says Jenny, wishing she could sound fiercer than she does. “I won’t ever risk hurting you again.”

There’s a silence. Rupert seems to be considering this. “Well,” he says, “if you’re worried about hurting me, you might consider the fact that you’re more likely to lose control if you’re starving.”

Jenny really doesn’t want to admit that he has a point, but he kind of does.

“Up you get,” says Rupert gently, leaning down and winding an arm around her waist so that he can pull her out of bed. He picks her up bridal-style, carrying her down the stairs, and Jenny focuses only on the way his arms feel around her. She doesn’t think about how hungry she is, or how easy it would be to take advantage of how close he’s holding her. None of that. _None._

Rupert places her down on the couch and moves into the kitchen. It’s a strangely comforting feeling to be downstairs. She’s been up in Rupert’s room for at least a week, and everything has felt hazy and only halfway real. A change of scenery reminds her, in its own odd way, that she is present and existing.

Rupert comes out with another mug of pig’s blood. At Jenny’s look, he says, “Just a sip, all right?” in that low, soothing voice he uses when he reads to her.

Jenny closes her eyes, and takes a sip. It doesn’t taste like anything she’s had before, and if she closes her eyes, she can pretend it’s not blood. She’s thirsty, too, and all but snatches the mug from Rupert, gulping it down more eagerly than she wants to think about. She focuses on the taste and not on the situation. It doesn’t fix much of anything.

She opens her eyes, setting the mug down. It’s already halfway gone. Without a word, she leans back into the couch.

“Blood sausage,” says Rupert, sitting down next to her. “I-if you’re looking for some semblance of normalcy, blood sausage—human people eat that. I could eat it with you.” He gives her this soft, sweet little smile that makes Jenny want to reach out and kiss him, but she’s pretty sure that that’s not an option.

Or—maybe it is. Maybe Rupert-the-complete-idiot has already somehow forgiven Jenny-the-vampire for torturing him and drinking his blood. But then again, maybe this is all obligation, and the way he’s looking at her right now (hopeful, hesitant) comes from some kind of guilt that she’s like this in the first place. It would really be like Rupert to think something like this is somehow his fault.

“I guess,” says Jenny, and sets down the mug of pig’s blood.

“Jenny,” says Rupert, his voice patient but firm.

“I drank some.” Jenny keeps her tone flat and detached. “I’m not dying on you, England.”

Rupert’s smile falters.

“Not _again,_ ” Jenny amends.

* * *

Jenny hears Xander and Willow talking in low voices as they enter Rupert’s apartment. She rustles the blanket draped around her in an effort to remind them that she’s still here. They don’t take the hint.

“I just _miss_ her, Xander, and I know that’s stupid because she’s back now, but I _miss_ Ms. Calendar,” Willow’s saying.

“You were her favorite,” Xander says. Somehow the _were_ cuts deeper than anything anyone’s said before—as though Jenny’s dead and gone and not listening from the couch. “Giles says he got her to eat, though, so that’s something.”

“Xander—” Willow’s voice catches. “Buffy and Angel and Ms. Calendar—I just—”

“Well, personally, I’m not all that cut up about Angel,” says Xander, a nervous laugh in his voice, “but we still don’t know that Buffy’s not okay.”

“Buffy?” Jenny echoes involuntarily.

Xander and Willow turn, wide-eyed. “Buffy,” repeats Willow tentatively, a new light in her eyes. She gives Jenny a wobbly smile. “Buffy’s…missing. How are you?”

Jenny wants to flinch away from the hopeful way Willow looks at her, the way she’d done so easily earlier. But she’s eaten now, and her mind isn’t clouded by panic and guilt, and it’s _Willow_ standing near her _,_ the bright-eyed girl who made jokes about programming and cried over every kid who ended up dead. She can’t hurt this girl again. “Getting better,” she says, not sure whether it’s true.

Willow’s smile stops looking quite as wobbly, even if the hesitancy doesn’t yet leave her eyes. “I brought you your laptop and a copy of _Scientific American,_ ” she says, sitting down on the couch next to Jenny and placing both items down between them. “And I’m trying to bring over some popsicles for the summer—I mean, I know you probably won’t taste anything as much, but the texture might be nice.”

“My little cousin used to eat ice chips for the crunch,” puts in Xander. “And if you want to get all toasty-warm, I bet Willow can make you some hot chocolate.”

“ _Xander_ , what if that burns her up from the inside?” Willow demands in a high, shrill voice. “I don’t know anything about vampire care!”

The absurd sweetness of the statement makes Jenny—it’s not actually much of a laugh, just that quiet, amused intake of breath that there isn’t really a word for, but it makes Willow and Xander both look at her with identical smiles. She finds herself smiling back, which is a little scary. She still doesn’t feel all the way okay, and they’re looking at her like she _is._

Willow sets the laptop down on Jenny’s lap. “I brought you fun straws too,” she adds. “And some of your favorite mugs.”

“I can go warm up some blood,” Xander adds helpfully.

Tentatively, Jenny opens the copy of _Scientific American._ Her fingers linger on the little Post-It note stuck to the front page, where Willow’s written _feel better soon!_ in bright pink pen.

* * *

 

“Lunch,” says Rupert, handing Willow and Xander sandwiches and Jenny a mug of pig’s blood. “Xander, kindly don’t get crumbs on my chair, thank you. Jenny—” He hovers, looking at her tentatively.

Jenny looks at him, then takes a sip from the mug, moving over slightly on the couch. There’s a spot for Rupert there if he decides he wants to take it, but she knows that he won’t. He needs a direct invitation, which makes her want to laugh; _she’s_ the vampire, and yet Rupert’s the one with the best manners out of both of them.

Rupert sits down on the floor instead, seeming unbothered by how undignified this makes him look. “How is everyone?” he asks, though it’s clear there’s only one person he really wants to know the answer for.

Xander seems to catch this. “ _Everyone_ is drinking her blood and looks a lot better,” he says significantly. Jenny has to hide an involuntary smirk behind the rim of her mug.

* * *

 

Jenny finishes lunch, and then she slips into the bathroom and showers for the first time since she’d been brought to Rupert’s apartment. The water is warm, comfortingly so, and she’s much more aware of it now that she’s a walking corpse with no body heat. Thinking about that is kind of disturbing. She focuses on washing her hair.

There’s something really comforting about being in here by herself. She definitely doesn’t feel in peak condition (that’s what happens when you don’t drink anything for weeks), but she felt very much like an invalid with all the blankets and the fussing and the whispering. Standing here, she feels almost like things might someday be okay.

It’s nice to finally discard the gross vampire dress, too—a sky blue dress with white polka dots. Jenny-the-vampire wore a lot of pastels, possibly some sick twist on the fact that Jenny-the-human preferred darker colors (her thoughts drift to her favorite leather jacket; she misses that jacket a lot). It seems really fitting that Jenny-the-vampire would share Jenny-the-human’s love of irony. Jenny-the-whatever-this-is stretches, turns off the shower, and wraps herself in a warm, fluffy towel before stepping out of the bathroom.

She leaves the vampire’s dress in there. She feels like that probably symbolizes something.

Willow and Xander have already left when Jenny enters the room, but Rupert looks up from his desk, turning slightly pink. “Um,” he says, standing up and polishing his glasses. “Would you like a robe?”

Jenny adjusts the towel, self-conscious. “Yeah,” she agrees, looking away. “Do you have anything I can wear?”

Rupert hesitates, thinking. “I believe Willow brought you some of your clothing,” he says finally. “Fortuitously, I didn’t manage to finish sorting through your belongings after your death, so your clothing and your things are all at your home whenever you feel up to getting them.” He blushes. “O-or moving back to your home, of course. I wouldn’t want to assume that you’d _choose_ to stay with me—”

“Okay,” Jenny says quickly. It’s still so adorable when he’s flustered, and she doesn’t feel ready to dwell on that.

Rupert heads into the bathroom, coming back with his blue bathrobe and draping it carefully around Jenny’s shoulders. His fingers brush her neck. Jenny’s still a little bit warm from the shower, a little bit flushed from the blood, and for a moment it feels like she’s alive again. But there are still a thousand things broken between her and Rupert right now. Thinking about it, it feels like most of their time together was spent fixing things between them. Something about that really hurts.

“Here you go,” says Rupert awkwardly. “You can change in the bedroom, I suppose. I’ll give you your privacy.”

Jenny nods and heads up the stairs.

There are a few of Willow’s oversized sweaters in the bag, and no sign of Jenny’s favorite leather jacket. She makes a mental note to ask Rupert or Willow about that jacket. Jenny rifles through the bag some more, finding one of her favorite blouses and the skirt she wore on the monster truck date with Rupert. She dries off and changes, combing her hair with a brush Rupert’s left on his dresser, and sits down on the bed, not quite ready to go downstairs again just yet.

“Are you finished?” Rupert inquires tentatively from downstairs.

“I’m decent,” Jenny calls back, lying back on the bed. She hears the sound of Rupert coming up the stairs, and sits up, leaning back on her elbows with her legs stretched out in front of her. Rupert draws in a sharp breath, looking at her, and she can see the desire and love in his eyes.

“I have to go out,” Rupert finally says, looking away from her with visible effort. “I won’t be back until tomorrow morning. I’ll call the children in to keep you company, all right?”

“Where are you going?” Jenny asks carefully.

“Looking for leads on Buffy,” says Rupert very quietly.

Jenny gets up, steps forward, _almost_ touches him, stops herself, and simply replies, “I hope you find something.”

* * *

When the kids arrive, Xander plays solitaire with an old deck of cards and brings Jenny a cup of blood with one of Willow’s silly straws. After she’s finished the first cup and changed into some night clothes, he asks, “Do you know how to play poker?”

Surprised by this query, Jenny raises an eyebrow. “Do _you?_ ”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking,” replies Xander, tossing Jenny his box of cards. They land in her lap, only narrowly missing the empty cup of blood. “Can you play poker?”

Jenny smiles slightly. There’s something wonderfully normal about this conversation. “I tried to learn when I was, like, seven,” she says, a faded old memory coming back to her for the first time in years. “The girl across the street wanted to learn too, so we tried to play together. It doesn’t really work as well with two people, I don’t think.”

“So we start a Scooby poker team,” says Xander. “But I guess that’s something for later. Are there any games you _do_ know?”

Jenny tries to think of something vaguely child-appropriate. Most of the time she uses card decks for magic, if anything. “I know Crazy Eights,” she says finally.

“You’re not serious,” says Xander, giving her a look. “Crazy Eights is a little-kid game.”

“What, and poker is a big-kid game?” Jenny studies Xander with amusement, then adds, “I’ve been drinking everything through silly straws and I’m wearing one of Willow’s sweaters. I’ve got the little-kid thing covered.”

Xander blinks. “That’s Willow’s sweater?” he says in surprise. “I thought you were just going for the plaid-hearts look.”

Jenny throws the deck of cards at him. Xander catches it and gives her a cheesy grin.

Willow comes in from the kitchen, handing Jenny a new mug of blood and taking the empty cup. “Oz called,” she says happily, setting the cup down on the coffee table. “He says he’s going to try and come visit tonight.”

“Hi,” says Jenny shyly.

Willow smiles at her. “You’re looking better!” she says, sounding delighted by this. “A little more color in your cheeks.”

“Metaphorically speaking,” says Xander helpfully.

“We’re about to play Crazy Eights—” Jenny begins.

“We are _not,_ ” says Xander indignantly, “we can play _poker_ when Oz shows up. I’m not having Oz come in to see us all playing Crazy Eights.”

“Oz played Crazy Eights with me just last week,” says Willow, taking the deck of cards from Xander and sitting down on the couch next to Jenny, “so we’re playing Go Fish, and you can leave your concepts of mature card games at the door, Xander.”

“Leave my—” Xander repeats with confusion.

“It’s an expression,” says Jenny as Willow deals cards. “She means there’s no place for them here.”

“It just sounds really weird in this context,” says Xander. “I mean—we’re already _inside._ ”

This is when Rupert steps through the door, looking exhausted and more than a little battered. Jenny draws in a sharp breath, feeling a rush of worry and love. “ _Rupert,_ ” she says involuntarily, and when Rupert’s eyes meet hers, she thinks she would have blushed if she had working blood vessels.

“You okay?” Willow asks anxiously, setting down the cards.

“I was following a potential lead on Buffy,” says Rupert exhaustedly, hanging up his jacket. “Took all night, and all I’ve got is a wild guess from a rather vicious cave-dwelling vampire.”

Jenny wants to get up off the couch and hold him. She wants to pin him against the wall and kiss him. It takes her a moment to realize that the thought of drinking from him hadn’t once crossed her mind, and something about that makes her feel a little better.

She still can’t bring herself to move towards him.

“You’ll find something out soon enough,” Willow reassures him, and Xander nods.

“I think I’ll make myself some tea and head out,” says Rupert with a perfunctory smile.

“ _Oh_ no,” says Jenny, forgetting about the fact that she’s a vampire and she tortured Rupert and she all but begged him to kill her. All that she thinks about (all that she _lets_ herself think about) is that Rupert’s just come back late at night with a bunch of demon-inflicted injuries that he’s trying to ignore, and _that’s_ happened enough for her to be thoroughly sick of it. She gets up, handing the mug over to Willow. “Xander,” she says, “get the first-aid kit. Willow, go up to Rupert’s bedroom and get his dark green sweater—it’s the softest one, it’ll work best for this. Rupert, get your vest and tie off, I need to check for bruising. You always get thrown up against walls, it’s ridiculous.”

No one moves. Everyone just stares at Jenny, eyes wide.

“I’m sorry, am I speaking Latin?” says Jenny tersely, words made sharp and angry by the sudden worry in her chest. There’s a gash on Rupert’s neck that she’s just noticed, and it has an odd greenish tint to it. “Because if I am, at least _Rupert_ should be moving right now.”

“I think she’s getting better,” says Xander with a mixture of alarm and appreciation.

“You think?” Willow places the mug down next to the empty cup, heading towards Rupert’s bedroom. Xander throws a look over his shoulder before hurrying into the bathroom for the first-aid kit.

Rupert stands there, looking at Jenny as though this is the first time he’s really seeing her. He doesn’t say anything as she steps closer to tug impatiently at his vest. “Lift your arms,” she says with some exasperation, falling easily into the old routine. It’s better than thinking about how much things have changed. Less painful.

Rupert doesn’t move.

“ _Rupert—_ ”

Without a word, Rupert pulls Jenny roughly into his arms, holding onto her like they haven’t seen each other in years. _So we are falling into the old routine, then,_ Jenny thinks wryly. She feels a jump in her stomach, wants to pull away, but then she hears the small, broken noise he makes as he presses his face into her hair and she _knows_ she can’t let go of him when he’s like this.

“Okay,” she hears Xander say. “Uh, should we leave them alone?”

“Let’s just leave the stuff here and go play cards in the bedroom,” Willow suggests.

Jenny nestles her head into Rupert’s shoulder and pretends that nothing’s changed. This close to him, it’s not that hard to do. “Hey,” she says, and she’s proud of herself for keeping her voice so steady. “Hey. Snobby. You’re gonna have to let me take care of you in a minute.”

“Jenny,” says Rupert in this small, broken little voice. It sounds almost like it did when he saw her for the first time in the mansion—

And there. The moment’s shattered. Jenny pulls away easily, her vampire strength kicking in. She wants to run outside and away, but it’s morning, and she doesn’t exactly have a death wish anymore (a realization that surprises her, but one that she doesn’t have time to dwell on) _._ She doesn’t want to think about how many times she’s hurt him, how many different ways. She thinks instead that the bite she left on his neck might end up scarring both of them. “I can’t,” she says, crossing her arms in front of her chest and looking down. She doesn’t know exactly what she’s saying she can’t do, but it’s comforting to have conviction about _something._

Rupert nods awkwardly. “I—” He wipes roughly at his eyes with his shirtsleeve. “Damn,” he mutters, and hurries into the kitchen to make tea.

Jenny wants to tell him that she just wants him to not be hurting, she wants things to just go back to normal again, but she recognizes the hypocrisy in the statement. _You make me feel bad that I don’t feel better—_ the difference, though, is that the Jenny possessed by Eyghon needed space, and the Rupert bitten by a vengeful vampire wants the person who hurt him to be there with him.

Jenny sits down on the couch and takes a long sip of blood from her mug. It’s weirdly comforting.

* * *

 

“Willow, I know this might be a long shot, but do you know where my leather jacket is?” Jenny asks tentatively before she goes to sleep that night.

Willow shifts a little on the air mattress (Rupert’s set up a sleeping space on the floor for the kids), bites her lip, and says, “I-I know how much you like that jacket, so when I was putting together a bag of clothing for you, I looked all over your place for it. I just couldn’t—”

Jenny shrugs. “It’ll turn up,” she says, snuggling into the couch. Rupert’s offered to let her take the bed, but she prefers it down here. 

* * *

 

Jenny wakes up after the kids have left. She tries to make herself a cup of morning coffee, not really feeling like herself in Willow’s sweater. The coffee tastes okay. Not as strong as it should, considering how much time and effort Jenny put into it. Maybe vampires have some natural immunity to coffee. Jenny takes a sip, leaning against the counter, and pretends that she’s as human as the Watcher upstairs.

“Hello.”

Jenny jumps, nearly spilling the coffee. Carefully, she sets it down. “Hi,” she says tentatively. “You feeling a little better?”

“Not really, no,” says Rupert with a small, tired smile. He isn’t looking at her. “I miss you.”

Somehow _I miss you_ is so much more painful than _please never leave me again._ Jenny lets her hand brush against Rupert’s. She stands shoulder to shoulder with him and doesn’t say anything. She gets the sense he has something he wants to tell her.

“What hurts me more than anything,” says Rupert very slowly, “is the thought that you might think my—attentions towards you—are only because of the way you died.”

Jenny can feel his eyes on her now, can tell that he’s trying to gauge her reaction. She keeps her face impassive, gaze straight ahead.

Rupert is silent for a moment, then says, “I love you.”

“I know,” says Jenny. “You shouldn’t.” Her voice breaks. “Rupert, I fucked up, I hurt you, and that isn’t erased just by the fact that I have some semblance of a moral compass again. That kind of anger still existed in me before I became a vampire.” She can’t look at him. “I can _feel_ her in me,” she says. She’s shaking. “I’m not _me_ anymore. She got here first.”

Rupert tugs on Jenny’s hand, and she turns without thinking. The love in his eyes makes her want to look away. “Were that the case,” he says, “I don’t think you’d fuss over me when I came home from patrol bruised and bloody. Perhaps I’m missing some crucial bit of the puzzle, but to me, that doesn’t seem like the kind of thing a soulless vampire would do.”

Jenny thinks about the way he’d looked at her in the mansion before he knew she was a vampire, smile bright and relieved. “You love me so much,” she says in a small voice, “and I just know that’s going to get you killed.”

To her surprise, Rupert starts laughing, placing a hand down on the counter and knocking over the coffee mug. Jenny’s coffee spills onto the counter and the kitchen floor, and she’s pretty sure that Rupert’s not just laughing anymore. “And that’s not what happened to you?” he forces out. He’s _crying_. “You told me—told me that day—and I turned and walked away—left you—”

“ _No,_ ” says Jenny fiercely, stepping forward and forcing Rupert to look at her. “Hey. No. My death was never your fault.”

“You shouldn’t have loved me.”

“ _You_ shouldn’t still love _me,_ you British idiot!” Jenny shoves Rupert, hard. He stumbles backwards into the wall, placing a hand at her waist to steady himself, and somehow, suddenly, they’re kissing, Jenny’s hands grasping at Rupert’s pajama shirt as she presses him against the wall. She doesn’t—can’t—think, only feel, Rupert’s hand grabbing at her leg and her mouth on his and he’s warm, soft, _alive—_

Rupert spins them around, lifting Jenny up onto the counter and sliding the borrowed sweater up, and it’s the warmth of his hands on her skin that brings Jenny some level of reluctant mental clarity. She pulls back. “We can’t,” she says.

Rupert lets his head fall forward, forehead resting against hers. “We never got to be in love,” he murmurs, still sounding a little shaky. “I want that. Desperately.”

“Me too,” says Jenny in a small voice, twining her arms around his neck. “Just—so many things are so fucked up. I want you to be safe.”

Rupert shakes his head. “I was safe,” he says. “I was safe, and I went home, and I found your body in my bed.”

Jenny feels something twist in her. She pulls back a little to look at him, eyes wide. “What?”

Rupert’s hands move up to take hers. “Angelus,” he says distantly. “He set up a nice little tableau. Roses, champagne, candlelight, and you as the centerpiece.” He looks up at Jenny, stroking her hair. “Believe me,” he says. “I know what it is to hurt the one person you wanted safe, and hear from everyone around you that it wasn’t your fault.”

“It _wasn’t_ your fault,” says Jenny, feeling sick. She pulls a hand away, cupping his face and kissing him deeply.

Rupert breaks the kiss, looking at her with a gently pointed expression. “If you believe that,” he says, “why is it so hard for you to believe that it wasn’t you that hurt me?”

“You didn’t torture me!”

“Neither did _you,_ ” says Rupert with emphasis. “But you still had to see me hurting in front of you, and I don’t think you’ve ever really addressed how much that’s hurt you.”

“Pot calling the kettle black, England,” says Jenny. She tries to smile. “Maybe we can figure it out together.”

* * *

 

“Someone should have _told_ me that Ms. Calendar’s back from the dead,” says Cordelia indignantly, breezing into Rupert’s apartment with Willow and Xander following. “I only found out because I called Xander and his parents said he was heading over to Willow’s, and then _Willow’s_ parents said that _she_ was heading over to help take care of Giles’s girlfriend, and then I put two and two together—” She stops, wrinkling her nose. “Oh my _god,_ Ms. Calendar, did your fashion sense not survive the trip back from the afterlife?”

Jenny crosses her arms in Rupert’s button-down and realizes that Cordelia might have a point. “This was more of a _romance_ thing,” she says, blushing a little at Willow and Xander’s incredulous looks.

“You know you could, like, lose your soul if you get a happy, right?” says Xander, sounding very much like he doesn’t particularly want to bring this up, but thinks he probably should.

“Xander,” says Jenny, smiling innocently, “we are inventive, _creative_ adults.”

Rupert looks like he can’t decide whether to be pleased or mortified. Willow starts giggling nervously.

“I mean, _still,_ ” says Cordelia. “It would be different if _Giles_ borrowed _your_ clothing, because you have good taste, but this is just—”

“Oh—I _did_ borrow something of yours,” says Rupert suddenly.

All eyes turn to him. “Wait, what?” says Jenny, startled.

Rupert winces. “It’s really just one item of clothing,” he says. “I-I took it from your home while you were missing. I thought that—that then you might find your way back faster. To get it back.”

Jenny smiles, reluctantly touched. What a dork. “Okay,” she begins. “What clothing—”

Rupert holds up a hand, hurries up the stairs, and comes back with something in his arms. Carefully, he drapes the leather jacket over Jenny’s shoulders.

Jenny hugs him, _hard._

“Yes, dear, I love you too, but you’re preternaturally strong now,” says Rupert weakly, hugging her back.

“Hmm,” says Cordelia. “You know, she actually kind of makes that lame-o shirt of Giles’s work with that jacket.”


End file.
